


Ring Game

by viceversa



Category: NCIS
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anonymous Gunfights, Cheesy, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I'm incapable of writing anything short, Jack wears a suit, Motorcycles, OOC, Poker, Romance, Slibbs Santa, Slibbs Secret Santa, there are plot holes and weirdness but it's fun, you can tell how bi I am just because of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21997717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa
Summary: Jack and Gibbs go undercover to suss out a target's secret hiding place. Things go sideways, of course.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 28
Kudos: 134





	Ring Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/gifts).



> My gift to @coolbyrne or @the-last-rat-standing on tumblr for the Slibbs secret santa!  
> I know nothing about poker but a Ring Game is a “standard poker game in which money is wagered during each hand.” And also a good title for this one. Also I don’t know anything about boats. POV switches back and forth between Gibbs and Jack. There are so many plot holes, it’s out of character, but it’s fun! Hope you all enjoy!

Gibbs wasn’t sure he agreed to this plan, but he was outvoted. Or maybe the plan was made without him fully present, his mind following a different avenue for the case that didn’t pan out.

Nevertheless the plan was in full swing, which involved him wearing his nicest suit (privately thought of as the suit he wore to funerals and weddings only, even if the funerals far outweighed the weddings, and wasn’t that a thought to not linger on) and a shaky undercover identity standing in front of a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood full of not very nice people. His hair was parted differently, off to one side, and it made his scalp itch.

An undercover sting, of course. A poker game with a long build up to get invited. The only shot they had to get on the inside was to get a chair at the table, and Bishop found a way in. Halfway through hearing this plan, Gibbs thought he’d be the one at the table. He had the poker experience, the undercover experience, and the more mature face for this particular crowd of lowlifes. 

But, no. Gibbs would be involved, but he’d be, as Nick so delicately put it,  _ The arm candy, man! Er… Gibbs.  _

Jack would take point at the table.

His hand was on her back, actually. Low on her back. Low enough to be a little  _ too _ low, but that was the kind of thing that would only make their story better, their cover a little neater. 

Twenty years ago - and Gibbs can barely go a day without thinking how different things were twenty years ago - they would’ve looked much different. Gibbs would’ve had point, general sexism admitted and come to terms with, and Jack would’ve been in a skimpy cocktail dress or some dazzling floor length number with a very high slit up the thigh, which was probably the real reason Gibbs was thinking fondly of what twenty years ago would’ve been like. 

But, things as they were weren’t so bad. Jack was in a (fashionable and hot, according to Bishop and Torres respectively, and respectfully) black suit. Said suit was provocative and didn’t come with a shirt underneath, and in fact came with almost nothing underneath. The neckline shot straight down in a sharp point just above where Gibbs imagined her belly button was, revealing the tiny string of her bra between her breasts. 

Not that he often imagined her belly button, or anything. Nope. Not gonna go there. Not while they entered the exclusive poker tournament full of exclusively assholes who made a grave error in stealing from the United States Marine Corps. 

She was also wearing a diamond ring on her left ring finger, something the last three rings he’d bought would fit into with room to spare. Ostentatious and showing off her fake wealth along with giving the strangers a reason to back off if they got too close. He wondered why they hadn't handed him a matching wedding band.

Gibbs nodded when Jack introduced them as Leann Marcone and “This is Jeff, my arm candy,” wincing slightly at the volume of Torres’ laughter in his earpiece. 

The guy checking them in, a little dweeb in a suit a size too big on him, snorted and waved them in. Thanks to McGee, Leann Marcone’s fake history obviously preceded her. She was infamous for her sex appeal, tried and true over decades and continents of work, which included everything from gambling to art thievery rings. She’d been working in South Africa for the past few years, and before that Singapore, and so on. Convincing a lower level rich asshole he’d heard whispers of Leann, and the invite came easily. 

High stakes, limitless money, and a few slick emails later, and Jack  _ sauntered _ in to play a few rounds, make a few friends, get the information on the secondary storage unit their mark was hiding the money in, and get the hell out of there. 

It was  _ supposed _ to go smoothly, anyway.

-

Jack was nervous. 

Jack Sloane didn’t  _ get _ nervous, not anymore. After what she survived, there wasn’t much on earth that made her shake in her boots. Hold a gun to her head and her adrenaline would steady her hands before she took you out. Give her a delicate case to profile, the solve on her shoulders, and she’d pull an all-nighter with no problem, focused. 

Put her in heels and a pantsuit off the runway with a rock on her finger and tell her to charm a room full of rich criminals with Gibbs on her arm? 

Well, hell. Something had to go wrong. 

Jack knew full well she was attractive, especially in designer clothing, and she’s used that to her advantage more than once. Walking in to that house and putting on an air of cockiness (and truly channeling Nick Torres as much as she could bear) calmed her enough to function. Undercover work was fun - she wasn’t Jack Sloane anymore, she was Leann Marcone, and she introduced them with just a hint of a southern accent. 

But she knew poker, and she had Gibbs’ arm to hold on to, and a seat very luckily next to their target. 

Luckily they’d arrived in enough time to miss most of the chatting and drinking. Gibbs did his part, blending in with the other tag-alongs when necessary but always standing at her elbow, her  _ armed  _ arm candy. 

His job was to loiter around the table, be her moral support and eyes while she sunk into the socializing of the game. 

_ Your tell - you know you have one, right?  _ Gibbs had asked her on the way to the game.

_ I don’t have a tell.  _

_ Yes you do. You get cocky. _

_ I’m always cocky.  _

_ Not like this. And your eyebrow- _

MY  _ eyebrow?- _

_ It does a thing- _

_ A thing? Really?  _

_ Goes all... up on one side.  _

_ Gibbs I don’t think these people will see my eyebrow move and know that’s my tell.  _

But now that she knew about it, she’d do her damndest to either eliminate it or fake him out at their next poker night. 

For tonight,  _ Leann _ was laying it on thick. Jack may have drawn on Torres’ personality for small talk, but she was ramping it up with tricks from every douchebag she ever had to interview. The suit helped, making her more free to lean around, to cross her legs, to take up as much space as she could as if it was hers to occupy. 

She was the douchiest one at the table, and it made all the others feel safe under her over-exuberance. 

The whiskey helped too. It seemed to be everyone’s drink of choice, and to Jack’s advantage she could hold it very well. The rest of the table were a little worse off, which only helped Jack hold her own in the game and to get her mark to keep talking. By the second round of drinks, that was easier than expected too. 

One of the players had run out of cash and was resorting quickly to items, saying he was saving the liquid assets for something down the line. He put keys on the chip pile, which prompted teasing and stories from the things each had lost and won in poker games of yore. 

“Still got that beach house out in Virginia, Carl?” someone goaded from the table. 

It was obviously an inside joke as everyone laughed it off. 

“Best thing I ever won in a night of bad joker!” Their target, Carl Nigel, laughed at himself. “My prized possession.”

“I’d hate to see the worst thing ya ever won!” Another laugh. “That shack saw it’s better days in the 40s - say, you think it was bombed in World War II?”

“Hey! Your best win was, what, a 57 Chevy so rusted out it broke in half?”

Jack didn’t even have to try, the idiots were just laughing over her internal questions. She heard Gibbs mutter  _ “You got that?”  _ into the earwigs, and Bishop’s confirmation that they were on it. 

_ “More specifics than the Virginia coast would help.” _

Jack jumped in, calling another bet and joining the joke before the subject was changed. “Buddy’a mine owned a little beach house in Georgia, called it the Shark Shack. Whole thing was themed - like a damned resort or somethin’.” She waited a beat for the round to finish. “Same guy got his leg bit off last summer,” she laughed.

“Oh fuck, for real?”

Jack rolled her eyes internally, the whole table focused on her. 

“Bit it clean off. Guy couldn’t bear to go back to his own damn beach house!” She laughed with the rest of them. “Terrified to step foot - _and he only had the one after all_ \- had the whole thing knocked down!”

The laughter took a minute to die down. Easy irony always entertained drunken idiots, especially if it made them feel superior. 

“Yeah, Carl, don’t take up surfin’ as a hobby!”

“Shut up Bobby! Don’ like thinkin’ about tha, ya know I can’t swim - ‘sides, my place is too nice for it anyway, all them racers practice there.”

_ “Sailing racers, Virginia coast, got it.” _

Jack was stuck playing the game, trying not to win too much but maintaining herself and her fake identity. Another round of drinks went through the players, and it was easier and easier to stay on top of their bluffs. 

_ “Got it! Beachfront property, owned for a year and a half under the name of one of Nigel’s shell companies.”  _ Nick relayed the news and Jack let out a tiny breath, but they were barely halfway through the night in a room full of armed men who’d had a lot to drink. Not the most ideal situation, and Gibbs said much the same. 

_ “Can’t leave yet. You guys take the van outta here, go chase down the stash.” _

_ “Gibbs, you sure?” _ Bishop’s worried came through loudly.  _ “We can’t leave you without backup--” _

_ “I’m the backup, Bishop. We can handle a poker game.” _

It took another clear order for them to leave but they did. The stash of stolen goods was more important than babysitting them for another few hours, and they’d be recording the rest of the tournament to see if anything else could help in their case, or if they needed to be investigating the rest of the ring. 

“So, Marcone,” the guy on her other side started. “Heard from Bobby what you’re thing is - seems like you’ve got a toe in every international market possible.”

Jack smirked, shrugging and on the inside desperately hoping he wouldn’t ask for specifics. She saw Gibbs in the corner of her eye, just as she had since she sat down, and again felt reassured. 

“What was your best bluff?”

The guys all laughed, having talked about their own winnings just to hear themselves brag the first part of the game. 

Jack went with the first story that came to her. 

“I gotta tell ya, wasn’t in poker. I always seem to lose more than I win by the end of the night.” That pleased the table, so she kept talking. “May not be y’all’s scene, but the art game is just as dangerous as everything else.” She had their attention. “It was in Monaco. I posed as a dealer, convincing this idiot to buy this Manet…” 

Jack went on to loosely describe the plot to the 2012 movie  _ Gambit _ starring Colin Firth, the whole table enraptured in her storytelling.

-

Gibbs had spent plenty of time staring at Jack over a poker game in the past months. 

Their monthly-ish games were friendlier, a way to relax without the weight of a case on everyone’s mind. Jack made such fast friends with everyone that it was like she was always a part of their group. It was hard to remember a time without her there at his table.    


It was hard to imagine a time without her at all. 

Yeah, okay, he can admit it. He fell fast and hard for Jack Sloane the moment she appeared. How couldn’t he be attracted to her? She was more than attractive, blonde with big eyes and a strength that didn’t hide. She was smarter than him, probably tougher too.    


And she was more than a decade younger than him. 

_ Hell, Jethro. You have as much a chance as an ice cube in hell.  _

But there was still something there. A _thing_. A thing that has been referenced and nudged at and picked apart in his head late, late at night working on his boat. An undeniable sort of something that was more than just mutual lust, more than simple curiosity. 

At least, on his side it was. 

In no time, she’d gotten then information they needed to crack the case. He’d been hovering near a corner, nursing a whiskey and occasionally picking at the  hors d'oeuvres they had out for the guests. 

Gibbs sized them up quickly, noting weapons and positions. Each of the five at the table had a wingman for security, and the house came with an entourage of its own. Beautiful women, paid to be there or just attached to the wrong people, circled the rooms, and music thumped distantly from across the mansion. He put out his usual air of ‘leave me alone and I won’t hurt you,’ perfected after years of mandatory meetings and multiple families of ex-wives. 

In just under two hours, the mark had given up the information on his beach house and their team was on the chase. It was the only place the stolen goods could be, and Gibbs was confident that they could wrap up the case in a few days. They just had to make it through the rest of the game. 

They couldn’t move on Nigel tonight, not with all the guns in the room and the alcohol flowing. They’d pick him up quietly and without collateral damage. 

Not twenty minutes had passed since the surveillance van left and it all went to hell. 

Gibbs saw the movement just before it happened. A shadow, a flash of a person, outside the window and suddenly three people burst in and started firing. 

He ducked toward the table - he had to get to Jack, to get her safe - but he was knocked by another goon running and lost her. Half a second he couldn’t see her and he fucking  _ lost _ her in the middle of a gunfight. He had to duck back, through the hallway and away from the mess, catching a glimpse of blonde hair around the corner and running out the front, the opposite direction of the fight.

No one was listening to the live feed from their earwigs anymore. Their only backup was themselves. 

Gibbs burst out the door, only half sure he was following her, barely able to hear above the shouts and gunfire around them. He paused for a breath but there she was, tugging on his arm and frantically doing something with her other hand.    


The keys from the pot. She grabbed them. Her first reaction must’ve been an escape plan and she saved their asses with her quick thinking. 

He’d never wanted to kiss her more. 

The thingy in her hand made something beep on the other side of the garage and they came to a quick halt in front of a motorcycle. A big motorcycle. 

“Really?” he panted out. 

Jack only shrugged and he watched as she straddled the huge machine, flipping the kickstand and starting the engine in one smooth movement. More accurately, he gaped at her, not quite believing the sight. She slid on clear glasses, the only protection for her eyes on the motorcycle. He wouldn’t have minded a helmet or two.

“Gibbs! Come on!”

_ Right. Gun fight. Need to escape. Gotcha. _

He straddled the hog behind her, taking no time to curse his popping and straining joints at the action, and held on out of reflex from her gunning it over anything else. 

Before he could blink they were out of the driveway and rapidly heading east. 

“You okay?” he shouted over the wind, repositioning himself more tightly to her frame, his arms going almost completely around her stomach. “Not hurt?”

“I’m good!” Jack barely turned her head, focused on the road in front of them. In another beat they’d made it out of the neighborhood safely, and she backed off on the acceleration. 

“You okay, Gibbs?”

“Fine!”

That was the extent of the conversation. Both of them were riding out the effects of adrenaline, of the immediate and deadly fear of a gunfight and running for their lives. 

Gibbs didn’t loosen his grip. 

-

The last time she had ridden a motorcycle was fifteen years ago, on leave from Afghanistan and riding south along the California coast to see a friend. It had been perfect, California weather. The ocean bright blue against a clear sky, the wind hot and dry and the freedom stretching out in front of her.

This was as different an experience as possible. 

Gibbs riding with her, for one, was something she’d never imagined would be a scenario. It was an instinct to grab the keys and run - neither of them were armed enough for an anonymous gunfight in which they were incredibly outnumbered and unknown. She had half a second to catch Gibbs’ eye before running, and she took the motorcycle twist in stride, riding high on adrenaline and the need to flee.

She nearly jumped when she felt Gibbs move behind her. He was  _ laughing _ . The insanity of the night, the fight or flight reaction mixing with the expensive booze in their systems sending them both giddy. Jack realized that she was smiling widely, manically.

They weren’t being chased. They had no clue who had come in with guns blazing, had no idea the casualties or targets, so Jack just headed toward the interstate to take them back. 

She felt every inch of Gibbs along her back, his arms wrapped around her, his legs along her thighs. She couldn’t help thinking that this was the closest they’d ever been.

Gibbs pulled out his phone and yelled an update over the wind to McGee. He promised to check in with them the next day, as they were all halfway to the beach house and wouldn’t be back that night. Then he snapped his phone shut and went silent at her back.

Miles flew by as she followed the speed limit as closely as she could. They didn’t need to be pulled over. Neither of them had their badges, and they were both armed. Before she could take the exit that would lead them to the Navy Yard, Gibbs released one hand from her side and slid it down to tap her thigh, a physical check to make sure she was okay. Jack could feel him relax minutely, his head tucked slightly down behind her shoulder, his eyes no doubt closed against the harsh wind. He shifted, his nose pressing on her neck. 

Gibbs was  _ so close _ . 

He looked so sharp in that suit, so present. He was always present, always there or close enough, hovering at the edges of her existence since she met him. More quickly than she cared to admit, Gibbs was more than a friend, more than a co-worker. They had their thing, it was out in the open and nearly acknowledged. 

Tonight easily pushed it over the cliff.

Jack had half a thought to be rational. Go back to NCIS, write up reports, take her car to her home and sleep for twelve hours. 

She squashed that thought with the realization that his hand hadn’t moved from her thigh. In fact, it had moved up, almost indecently toward her inner thigh, and his grip was firm. 

And hot. And steady.    


She snapped and a decision was made.

The team had it handled. She passed the exit and took the next one, headed straight toward his house, reports be damned. 

Visions of rushing inside, Gibbs hot on her tail, her turning and tackling him without a word assaulted her and her whole body flushed, translating the anxious energy of adrenaline into something more heightened and full of heat.

She was hoping landing on him would be softer than it looked

Jack drove just a tick faster.

-

He was going crazy. They’d never been this close, he’d never seen her like this, and he knew it was the adrenaline high talking but all he wanted was to back her against a wall and have his way with her. 

Or vice versa, he wasn’t picky.

They had talked about this thing just enough to be dangerous, and if this night wasn’t a perfect mixture of danger and adrenaline to push them over the edge, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see the next level.

They went inside his place without a word, and he wondered what was going through her head. In matching movements they unclipped their guns and set them on the coffee table, both taking a moment to regroup as best they could. They turned to each other in the living room and spoke at the same time, cutting each other off. 

“Gibbs-”

“Look, Jack-”

They exchanged reflexive smiles and Gibbs deferred to her with a movement. 

“Gibbs, I have to - well, that is to say I think it’s just - don’t you think-” Jack cut herself off, and he could feel the moment she switched gears. “Ah, to hell with it.”   


The air cracked between them and suddenly she was on him, just shy of a full on tackle, his face in her hands and her lips on his mouth.    


Gibbs let out a startled sound that turned into a moan, his own hands gripping her sides, sliding to her back, needing her closer, closer than he could manage still standing and clothed. 

She was perfect, her mouth was hot and pliable, open to his tongue almost immediately and passionately. He returned her enthusiasm, ramping it up quickly, smoothing his hands all over her back, into her hair, down her sides to bring her against him. 

They broke apart, needing dazed eye contact to check in, and a beat was all it took. He nodded at her silent question, she smiled at his and they reconnected. Their second kiss began soft, kindling to a fire, going on and on until he was mad with it, so sensitive and strung tight.    


Gibbs noticed that she’d begun to walk him backward and shucked off his suit jacket, and when his legs hit the couch he didn’t complain. He helped her unbutton his shirt and take it off, the undershirt following. He kissed her again and then sat, toeing off his shoes, needing to breathe more than he wanted to admit, straining against his suit pants almost uncomfortably. 

He looked up at her in the low light and swore under his breath.    


Jack was a vision, a sight that would be branded in his head forever. Her hair was a mess, partly because of his hands but more so from the unexpected drive they just took. But even in the shadows, he could see her flushed cheeks, her ragged breath.    


She was just as affected as he was. 

Without a word she unbuttoned the three buttons on her suit and took it off, revealing an expanse of skin and her bra.   


Gibbs forgot he needed to breathe. 

Another second and her hands were on the waist of her slacks, then to the side, and a zipper was pulled down and suddenly she was bare aside from her underwear. 

Distantly in his hind brain, Gibbs noticed that it matched her bra. The same silky material with lace, the same shiny black, having the same effect on him. He needed to touch it. So he did.

She straddled him, his mind flashing back to the motorcycle and just as quickly back, and his hands bracked her hips, bringing her exactly where he wanted with no resistance on her part. She rained kisses on him, delving into his mouth again before getting sidetracked across his jaw, to his neck and the place that made his vision white out when she  _ sucked _ . 

“Can I--”

“Yes, Jack, anything, yes,” he affirmed. 

She kissed him again in answer, almost unable to stop and he felt just as addicted to the taste of her.    


Jack was just as efficient with his zipper, freeing him with a mutual sigh and another glance and finally, finally moving astride him, onto him. 

Gibbs groaned, his head dropping back against the couch, unable to do anything but feel, to let her sink down and  _ clench _ and, oh, fuck, that little noise she made in reaction almost made him come. 

He held back, hands back on her hips unconsciously, guiding her movements, helping and taking what she gave him, taking in every second she rode him. 

Closer, faster, slick with sweat and heat and  _ oh, fuck yes. _ He bucked into her, complimenting her thrusts with all he had, his hands slipping to hold her ass, his mouth swallowing her moans as she shook against him, and he followed just after.

They took a moment, then another and a few more, to get their bearings. What little strength they had left was used to shift around and flip a blanket on top of them, trapping their heat for the moment.

Jack rested mostly on top of him, and he wished to stay in that position for as long as he could manage, and then as often as he could after that. There was no turning back, not for either of them. There was only forward, and forward was hopeful and bright.

“What a night,” she sighed, her breath tickling his neck in the most delicious way. 

Gibbs rather thought it was the understatement of the year and huffed out a helpless laugh. 

“I woulda won the bike, anyway,” she muttered.    


Gibbs was incredulous,  _ that _ was where her mind was right then?

“Had the best hand. Straight flush.”   


Gibbs was speechless. 

“Think they’ll let me keep it?”   


He couldn’t help it, he laughed. She was insane. He was in love with an insane woman, and he couldn’t be happier. 

He couldn’t help but contemplate the ring on her finger, glinting in the low light of the room, needing to be returned to evidence soon.

Jack laughed along with him. “It’s a sexy ride, Gibbs! Got me laid and everything --” 

“Ya don’t need the bike for sex appeal, Jack.”

She stopped her teasing and looked down at him, lifting herself a little to make eye contact. “Yeah?” The question was more than just a response to his comment, more than something to laugh off. 

“Ah hell, Jack,” he gathered his words, squirming under her open gaze. “Ya had me at ‘Cowboy.’”

**Author's Note:**

> My prompts were the quote “She was hoping landing on him would be softer than it looked” and a picture of a motorcycle. This was unlike most of what I’ve written, so I hope you liked it!! Please let me know what you think!


End file.
